Bombshell Blonde
by morethanmemories
Summary: What happens when Santana Lopez and Quinn Fabray are out in the real world, seemingly ready to start anew, but suddenly the relationship between 'Bram' begins blossoming and one of them isn't ready to give up their ex just yet? Will dwelling on the past prevent living in the present or will something completely new change their viewpoint on the future?
1. the Reunion

Author's note: Ahh, first story on this account. Bring out the champagne! I've been wanting to write Quinntana forever and finally got an idea as to how to do it. So, I'm not going to blab for long, but before you start reading, there's a few things:

1) Some parts of this chapter are off canon, i.e when Santana and Quinn had a slapfest, Brittany was present. In this story, however, she is not.

2) Brittany and Sam _do not_ start dating in the Thanksgiving episode, but much later. Since Santana and Quinn both have busy schedules and aren't able to visit Lima often, they can't meet up. Therefore, I decided to speed things up and make Bram date and Quinntana see them.

3) I usually publish on Saturdays/Sundays? Knowing my impatient nature, I'll probably ignore all scheduling and publish early, or much later due to school. We'll see.

4) Not responsible for any grammar/tense mistakes in the chapter. Writing at 4 am has it's perks.

And now, enjoy.

* * *

''This is what my professor calls projecting. You're projecting Kitty onto me, Santana. We have graduated and now it's really time to get over this.''

''Get over what?''

''You being jealous of me.''

The blunt words of the blonde facing her across the piano, hazel eyes cold and lips pursed with suppressed frustration-like emotion mixed with a hint of superiority, smacked Santana across the face like a weird plot twist. She could instanteneously feel the anger starting to bubble up inside, that in attempts of breaking out in any form of self-expression, whether it was an eyeroll or a simple snarky (but nonetheless fulgurous) remark directed towards Quinn's failure of a love life. The Latina was baffled at her endless confidence in herself. As if being a mistress to some middle-aged hornbag who quit his wife because she wouldn't put out for him would bring out jealousy in people. Pity is what she felt towards Quinn, nothing more or less than that. But however irritated and ready to bitchslap the ridiculous assumptions out of her, she simply quirked a well groomed eyebrow as a sign of denial.

''And why would I be jealous of you?'' came an inquiry to which Quinn already had an answer as if she'd planned the conversation in her head hours prior to it. Her ''friend's'' quick reply made Santana believe in that version- Quinn had always been a strategist. And by the looks of things, their chat was going exactly as expected.

''What are you excited about? Shaking pom-poms back in Kentucky? You want everyone to think that you're such a badass, but really you're just a girl with low self esteem.''

One word led to another, forming a degrading as well as a completely false accusation, and Santana could no longer hold it in. Why would she bother playing a saint when the blonde threw provocations left and right precisely alike with the stuck up Rachel-bullying Cheerio she had once been? When exactly did she graduate with a PhD in psychology and most importantly, _what_ gave her the impression she was aware of everything going on in Santana's head? Before she got the chance to control her sharp tongue, the comeback involving Beth had already escaped, it's aftermath clear on Quinn's face. And hers, she realized a moment after, swiftly bringing her fingertips to touch the flaming imprint left on her face on impulse. Instinctively, Santana mirrored the action, earning a gasp and a storm out without any last words. The sound of Quinn's heels clicking against the floor reached Santana's ears for ten more seconds, then slowly fading into the silence of McKinley's empty hallways, leaving the latina alone with her racing thoughts.

''So much for a friendly bonding time with Goldielocks. Maybe next time when she's not on her joyful time of the month. Or in our case it seems like a year,'' she croaked, tiredly slumping down next to the piano, a hand still covering the print on her right cheek to somehow relieve the rhytmic throbbing. ''Always a glorious slapper, that one.''

* * *

Santana called her two hours later. Of course, she didn't intend to take all the blame for the spat- Quinn was as equally guilty for trying to get into her head and Santana Lopez rarely apologized. What she wanted was a normal conversation without names being called, having conscience she didn't admit to, though it had partially been the reason. She kept tapping her feet against the floor in anticipation, cursing inside at every beep the phone made. Was Quinn too angry to pick up? Fortunately or not, her assumption was proved wrong a second later.

''What do you want?'' a raspy voice from the other end of the phone rendered her speechless for a moment, but she quickly regained her ability to form coherent sentences. The answer came out snappier than Santana had expected it to be.

''Well, aren't you just a sunshine shedding light upon the meadow of daisies where unicorns and little girls with lollipops frolick. Don't they teach manners back in Yale?''

''I repeat, what do you want, Santana? If you're calling me to continue our quarrel, I'm not in the mood, nor will I ever be.''

''Relax. I don't want to reenact our... argument, if you will.''

''Then what did you call for?''

''You know...'' a long pause followed, during which she blamed herself for not being shrewd enough to think of an explanation earlier, albeit knowing Quinn would most definitely want an answer. Santana was pacing the room now, too worked up for her head to start functioning, so she settled for the first thing that came into her mind, something people actually did after arguments. ''... I called to apologize.'' Another long pause. It was Quinn who couldn't, or didn't want to find words this time. Having known her for years, Santana immediately came to the conclusion as to why she was silent. That short of an apology wasn't sufficient enough- the latina had to acknowledge the point behind it, and what Quinn wanted, she got. ''... Apologize for my words earlier. It was uncalled for, even though what left your mouth was complete and utter bullshit.''

''Santana Lopez apologizing? I never thought I'd live to see the day,'' Quinn finally announced, surprise clear in her voice and probably facial expression, had someone seen her.

''Quinn Fabray accepting an apology instead of plotting silent revenge? Yeah, me neither. Call the Ghostbusters, we've been possessed. Creepy voodoo magic and stuff.''

''Actually, ghostbusters and voodoo are-''

''Fabray.''

''Sorry. Apology accepted. We're supposed to be best friends, after all. With that being said, I _do_ want to talk to you without it ending in violence. How about we try again, this time at Breadstix, just in case we get close to losing our temper and need people to separate our catfight?''

''Uh, yeah. Sounds reasonable. Is eight good enough for your highness?''

''Sure.''

''Good.''

''And Santana?''

''Huh?''

''Don't forget the concealer. I know your right cheek hurts,'' the girl remarked with a hint of laughter in her tone, ending the call before Santana got the chance to shoot back a retort.

''Bitch. Not only did she not apologize while I basically stomped on my pride with two inch heels, she also got the last word. Auntie Snixx needs to work on herself before they get too used to nice Santana. Dios mio, this is all kinds of screwed up.''

* * *

Precisely at eight, Quinn had already claimed her spot in one of the booths at Breadstix, patiently awaiting her friend, manicured nails meeting the polished surface of their table every once in awhile. Santana's absence gave her an opportunity to look around, to take in every little detail of the familiar place. The people were gleefully chatting away whilst simultaneous bursts of melodic laughter graced her ears from afar. The room was well lit and felt cozy, warmth of the atmosphere around sucking her in. She'd missed Ohio, even regardless of her life-long dream of leaving, and most of all, she missed her friends in the glee club. Acquaintances made in Yale weren't quite the same. Sure, they were outgoing, but they didn't possess the sarcasm of Santana or the heartiness of Brittany. The friendships formed at McKinley were unique. No matter how often they fought, in the end they always managed to overcome all difficulties. Approaching footsteps caused her to snap out of her thoughts, greeting Santana with a slight smile spread across her lips at the sloppily hidden traces of concealer on her cheek, exactly as she'd advised.

''Didn't your mom teach you that staring's impolite?''

''She did, but it's not stopping me.''

''Well, you look nice as always. Seems like I didn't slap you hard enough. Damn,'' Santana grumbled, plopping down onto the leather seat. In spite of the bruise, Quinn had to admit she was still gorgeous, tan skin glowing in contrast to her silky hair in a tight bun, long lashes complimenting her eyes nicely, lips luscious as ever. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful people Quinn had ever met, and it was the cause of her envy every now and then. After all, she was a woman of many complexes, especially around good looking friends.

''Why thank you-'' she began, but was cut off by the object of her attention gasping, fists tightly clenching in that instant, nails digging deep into the palms of her hands. She turned to look at what resulted in such reaction, only to see Sam holding the door open for Brittany, goofy grin plastered all over his face. Much to Santana's dismay, the pair noticed her and Quinn right off the bat, giving them a smile and a slight wave.

In return, an idea of inviting them over came to Quinn and she raised her hand in a signal to the couple. Santana, alarmed by her action, suddenly grabbed hold of the blonde's hand across the table, intertwining their fingers and pushing it down onto the table again. A confused expression flashed across Brittany's face before Sam gently nudged her toward the booth in the farthest corner of the restaurant, strategically out of the latina's sight. Then reverting her eyes back to Quinn, who was sporting the same confused countenance as Brittany had before, she only loosened the grip, not letting go completely. Despite questioning looks, Santana kept silent until Quinn was the one to speak up.

''Would you please let go now? There are people in this room whom I don't want to get the wrong impression of my sexuality.''

''After your pining for Berry and about a million failed relationships with the opposite sex? You're tripping, Fabray. Noone in this room thinks you're straight.''

''I have _never_, and won't ever have _any_ feelings beside friendship and occasional annoyance towards Rachel,'' she snapped, abruptly jerking her hand out of the grasp and placing it on the table, far out of reach in case her friend decided to create the illusion of them dating again. Santana only rolled her eyes and fiddled with the straw in the glass of water. Neither one of them added to the conversation for awhile, that until Quinn came to a conclusion and coughed in a subtle attempt to get her friend's attention away from Brittany.

''I thought you broke up.''

Santana's full lips arched down, forming a sad half-frown that reached her eyes. ''We did.''

''Didn't you say she was free to see whoever she wanted?''

''I did.''

''So why exactly are you having a hissy fit over her actually doing what you gave her a permission to?''

''I'm not.''

''Oh, stop with the laconic replies. You're jealous. Denying it doesn't solve anything.''

''Are you pulling the I-know-it-all on me again, Fabray? You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes with a PhD in psychology to realize that, yes, we recently broke up and yes, I haven't had enough time to get over her. Happy?''

''If you can't seem to get over her, then why did you break up in the first place?''

''I was afraid.'' An eyebrow quirk from Quinn encouraged her to continue, and she hesitantly did so. ''She said she would never cheat on me. I was supposed to believe her since relationships are about trust and all that crap. I couldn't, though. If I managed to manipulate her into cheating on Artie, then there's a possibility of someone doing that to her again.''

''But she loves you. Or, whatever love means to her. I haven't quite gotten a grasp on the way Brittany's mind works yet.''

''She loved the less intelligent version of Stephen Hawking, too. That's why it took us so long to get together. Hell, nothing would've even happened between us if Wheels hadn't called her stupid.''

''So what you're saying is that you're too afraid to take a risk for love?''

''Yeah,'' the latina shrugged. The forced dismissive expression that took over her features wasn't convincing enough for Quinn, who kept tactlessly persisting on pouring salt on wounds.

''A bloody coward is what you are, Santana. You have to hold onto the person you fall for. You might only feel that way once in a lifetime, and you'll feel like shit when you realize what you missed out on.''

''No offe- Wait. Scrap that, you _should_ get offended by what I'm going to say. The girl whose longest relationship is with her monomania for the prom queen tiara shouldn't be the one to lecture me about relationships,'' Santana chirped, mood getting significantly better due to the acid looks from Quinn.

''Screw you.''

''Don't you worry, that's what I've been doing ever since graduation.''

''Ignoring that comment. Neverthless, you're always free to hit me up when you finally realize that you need her back.''

''I'd be more than happy to hit you if you continue nagging.''

''Was that supposed to make me afraid? Please, you hit like a sissy and I have unalterable proof on my face.''

A flying napkin hit her straight in the face, causing Quinn to shriek and almost fall off her seat. The tension was replaced by fits of laughter in a flash and for a brief moment, Santana forgot about Brittany, Sam, or the world outside Breadstix.

''I hit like a boss and you just had unalterable proof on your face. Take it back.''

''Make me.''


	2. the Blizzard

**Author's note:** A bad apology, yes, but school is killing me. Luckily, weekends are for sleeping in. Another apology for any weirdly constructed sentences, typos or errors. Wrote it in the middle of the night again and was anxious to publish, so the proofreading will probably take place in the morning.

Also, who's excited about the Valentine's day Quinntana rumours? I know I am.

* * *

Somehow, without being thoroughly aware of what she was signing up for, Santana had agreed to meet up with Brittany over an awkward phone call, or at least that's what it was for one of them. In her defense, who could say no to the ditzy blonde and her sweet tone of plea? Santana could almost feel her pouting like a kid on the other end of the phone, baby blue eyes full of hope. Besides, she kept repeating to herself, hanging out also gave her the chance to clear the air, and possibly give another explanation as to how Brittany had ended up with Sam, of all people.

She sighed. She twitched. She paced the room. She ended up in front of a mirror, facing a pale ghost of once so radiant latina. Her tired expression was a sign of a sleepless night, during which many scenarios ran through her mind and countless what if's took over. The guilt for breaking up with Brittany wouldn't stop haunting her. Santana even got to the point where building a time machine and cursing out her past self didn't seem like that bad of an idea. Naturally, she deemed it 'pathetic' after a few cups of coffee in the morning.

A small smile spread across the tired features as her mind drifted back to the time machine idea. One thing was for sure, if she were to go back, the old Santana would most definitely give her a piece of mind. And luckily, the current Santana would be mature enough not to take it. She wasn't going to use 'Snixx's' ways to get Brittany back. Making her cheat on Artie, however successful, had been a low blow.

With the buzzing of her phone in the depths of her purse came another deep sigh, and she reverted her eyes to the clock to see what it was about.

''Shoot.''

That simple word was followed by a sprint downstairs and to her car, which she almost crashed in great rush. The snow didn't help her case, either. Another buzz. With one hand gripping the steering wheel, she fished the cell out with various curse words accompanying her actions. Finally managing to hit 'accept call', she was greeted by Quinn's cheery 'hello' instead of Brittany's inquiry as to where she was. The reply wasn't as upbeat.

''Next time pick a moment worse than this, I double dare you. In case of this godforsaken car crashing, you're to blame.''

''Oh, right, and who are you going to blame for making you drive in a freaking blizzard, Santana? Sane people stay at home. But then again, I wouldn't use you and sane in the same sentence. What, are you on an adventure? Look out for Swiper, gay Dora.'' Quinn's tone gave off the vibe of extreme self-content, even though Santana wasn't amused in the slightest bit.

''Fuck off, Fabgay. I do what I want. It's better than staying inside with your ten cats and a suppressed girl craving. Speaking of which, I can suggest some good lesbian porn movies to help you out on this one. Good friends don't let friends jerk off to bad porn.''

''First of all, you disgust me. Second of all, I don't have a lady cr-''

''Yeah, yeah. You're as straight as a ruler and blah blah. Don't accept my friendly gesture then. What'd you want anyway? I'm in a rush to start step one of winning back Brittany.''

She had to check the phone screen to make sure Quinn didn't hang up, but instead maintained a long pause. Santana was one second away from thinking the ninjas kidnapped her when the blonde finally spoke, voice a few octaves lower, playfulness suddenly gone.

''Oh.'' Was it disappointment? Surprise? ''Then I shouldn't slow you down. Have fun on your date.''

''Don-''

''We all know what happens if you use your phone while driving. Texting or not, it's still dangerous. I'm hanging up on you now.''

Before getting the chance to protest, she was cut off by the annoying beeps against her ear. What bugged Santana even more than not getting the last word, was Quinn's sudden change of mood upon mentions of Brittany. Another mystery was added to Santana's pile of questions, and once again, it looked like her mind wasn't going to get rest anytime soon. Until that, though, she had to get through the meetup.

* * *

''I'm _so_ glad you made it, San. I was worried about Frosty the Snowman eating you,'' squealed Brittany, capturing her friend in a warm embrace that made Santana's heart hammer. To her disappointment, Britt let go a moment later and she had to reluctantly follow her into the familiar kitchen where a picnic blanket was already set. Hot chocolate and cookies, just like the old times. Just like when the pair ran back to Brittany's house after a cheer practice, wearing nothing but the cheerios uniform and a jacket. Ms. Pierce then made them hot beverages and the girls chatted away until the late evening hours that often ended in non-sexual sleepovers, Santana always being the big spoon. Of all things, she'd missed the blonde's warmth against her and the adorable snores that left her throat.

''Say what now, Frosty the Snowman turned evil?'' she quirked an eyebrow, taking a cross-legged position on the floor. The serious nod coming from Brittany made the corners of her mouth rise up and her best friend's lips mirrored the smile.

''That's what auntie says. I wanted to make snow angels with Sam the other day, but she told me that, so I didn't go. I can't believe the friendly newsman isn't warning people!'' the blonde exclaimed with worry, then calming a bit after Santana's reassuring words.

''I sure hope they will... So, how have you been? Have you met any cute unicorns or bicorns?''

''I wasn't really looking.''

''Kay.''

Both girls remained silent after the short reply, one not bothering to uphold the conversation and the other chewing on her cookie. Little did Santana know, she shouldn't have raised the cup of hot cocoa to her lips the exact moment Brittany decided to interrogate.

''Are you in love with Quinn?''

The hot sensation of the beverage burned her throat as she choked on the cocoa, Brittany eyeing her nervously. For a brief moment, all of the oxygen supply was cut off from her brain and due to the deficiency of sleep, she was about to deeply regret her following words.

''What if I am?''

''I didn't think you'd find another unicorn so quickly.''

''Oh, don't be a hypocrite. What about you and Sam? You have no right to blame me.''

Her blunt response took Brittany aback, wiping the smile from her face.

''I wasn't blaming you!''

Unfortunately, much alike with the Hulk, Santana's temperamental dark side had already taken over before she knew it. Brittany's innocent tone only amplified the rage. She didn't intend to lash out on her like that, but she didn't want to keep things to herself any longer.

''Why didn't you call me?''

''San, I really don't t-''

''Why didn't you call me before the so-called apocalypse? You're supposed to love me, and instead you spent all day with Evans. What if it did happen? You didn't even want to say goodbye to me. Do you know how _awesome_ it made me feel?''

''Please don't be m-''

''No, you don't get to say anything. You don't get to make me forgive you for moving on and then be upset that I have, too. You know what? I'm so done.''

She really did mean her words. With that, Santana grabbed her things and promptly left, staying blind to the apologetic look her outburst caused. Storming out into the wheezing wind without a jacket seemed reasonable at that instant, as the cold nipping on her cheeks and causing the shortness of breath was the only way for her to feel something. It was the only way for her to feel anything.

* * *

As much as it hurt to admit it, the sole way to survive the rest of the night without jumping off a bridge was either with the help of alcohol, or someone's company. Or both. She quickly contemplated all of her choices and settled for the person she tolerated the most, Quinn. The blonde had known about the snowstorm, so there was a possibility of her being home for the weekend. And that's exactly where Santana headed.

Once there, it simply took three knocks for the door to open. Without any second looks or asking for permission to enter, Santana slithered in, carelessly throwing her jacket onto a coat rack. She then turned around to face a disapproving Quinn, dressed in saggy clothes and sporting a tight ponytail. No matter how much her expression would deny it, Santana knew Quinn was grateful for her storming in. She was lonely, too.

''Well, you look... fresh,'' the dark-haired woman remarked, earning a grimace in response. As all aspiring beauty queens, Quinn didn't approve of the comments about her looks. Once a clutter of insecurities, always a clutter of insecurities.

''And _you_ look like you weren't invited. Oh, that's probably because you weren't. Leave.''

Her friend didn't obey, only leant against the wall as a sign of silent protest.

''No need to be so crude when I'm genuinely trying to help. Doctor Oz said that drinking with your cats is dangerous for the sanity. Or in your case, the remainders of it. Besides, rubbing alcohol isn't going to get you drunk enough.''

''The things you learn on daily basis. Did he also say that I'm going to sprinkle you with the rubbing alcohol and then set you on fire if you keep talking? I was planning on drinking it, but roasting marshmallows on you sounds much more delightful than dealing with a hangover.''

''Plot twist, Christian belle Quinn Fabray skipped down the yellow brick road and fell into the psychopath canyon. What, oh what, did Yale do to you, Dorothy?''

''It taught me not to tolerate everyone's bullshit.''

The lack of retorts articulated thereafter seemed to cool the argument down. Few moments later, Quinn's shoulders lifted in a light shrug as she nonchalantly made her way to the barricade of pillows resting on the living room floor. It was a white flag for Santana, and she followed sans cautiousness to keep her distance. The spot she took next to Quinn left no distance inbetween, but neither complained about having their personal space intruded by another. Santana had her resting on Quinn's shoulder as an apology, and the blonde kept her arm delicately wrapped around the other girl's waist. For once, the silence didn't seem awkward, more so natural. Sharing it felt comforting.

''So what happened?'' Quinn asked half an hour later, all attention turned to the TV screen as if wanting to know was only an obligation, not a way to relieve her curiousness. She didn't expect an answer. Neverthless, it came as a sound resembling a whisper.

''We fought.''

Quinn's ''alright'' marked the end of the brief conversation. Another 30 minutes of later, the boring romantic comedy had lulled them to the verge of sleep. Right before drifting off, nose nuzzled into the blonde's neck, a soft voice graced Santana's ears for one last time. ''Love is just around the corner. I'm rooting for you.''

Later that night, she smiled in her sleep.


	3. Snowed in

**Author's note:** This one is somewhat sloppy since I snipped away some hours from writing an essay to make it readable. The chapter is much shorter than the usual ones and whatnot, but I was eager to publish it during the weekend as promised. The upcoming week is now hereby dedicated to reading fanfiction (watch me cry over quality writing skills) as an attempt to improve the next chapter.

Also, the Quinntana kiss is confirmed.

I can't.

* * *

The next morning, Santana opened her eyes with one particular sentence echoing in her head and an unusually optimistic attitude towards the upcoming day. Her attention was then caught by not the hard floor she had fallen asleep on, but instead a flower scented bedspread she was carefully tucked into. It took her some time to get used to the sunlight blazing in from two large windows on her left, though when she did, her yet sleepy eyes caught the glimpse of pastel hues all around her, those similar to the color scheme of Quinn's room. Further glances only confirmed the assumptions. It really was the blonde's room. Luminous, neurotically organized, oddly cozy. It even had fairy lights running from one wall to another, right below Quinn's framed diplomas for academical achievements.

Santana's exploration of the room was cut short by none other than her friend barging in, incoming smell of bacon and pancakes hung in the air. She, too, had no signs of grumpiness, a goofy grin plastered across her face.

''Breakfast's ready, lazy ass. Get up,'' the girl chirped, signaling for her to get up with the hand that was holding a whisk and getting drops of batter everywhere as a consequence. Santana only got up partially, legs still comfily cocooned in the beadspread.

''What's the occasion? You being eternally grateful for some company?''

''In case you haven't noticed yet, the occasion is that the universe hates me. And since going to jail for a first degree murder is not on my bucket list, I have to ensure you won't be a pain in the ass all day long. Or, if the Lord is testing me, for a few days.''

''I'm sorry, what? All I grasped was pointless self-centered blabber that would probably have hurt my ears, had I listened more closely.''

''We're snowed in, Satan.''

''We're- Holy hell.''

''Yeah. You can't melt it with your hotness, can you, _sexiest piece of ass in Lima_?'' Quinn retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

''There was no need to put emphasis on th-''

''Thought so. Since you can't, we're going to have to get along nicely. First step, chop-chop out of bed or you'll get water and bread crumbs for breakfast.''

''Yes, fuhrer,'' Santana muttered, lazily sliding out of bed under Quinn's amused look. ''You should be grateful I'm not a morning person or else I'd be all Lima Heights up on your ass,'' came loud enough for her to hear when Santana defiantly strode past her. Quinn shook her head and followed the young woman to the kitchen.

* * *

''That's a crappy show.'' Santana craned her neck from the spot she was leafing Vogue on to get a slight peek at the large screen Quinn's eyes were glued to. As for the blonde, she was nestled in her customary spot among the pillows, visibly intrigued by the subplot that annoyed Santana to no end. It was only a matter of time before her friend gave in to her comments and got into an argument, hence getting Santana one step closer to what she wanted- the remote and distraction from her own thoughts.

''Shut up.'' Exactly according to the plan.

''No, really, this show has less continuity than your relationships. Hey, that chick's actually not that bad at all. I'd do her.''

''Santana, would you shut up before I shove that magazine down your throat?''

''He solved the case? Wow. Put your hands together for Sherlock Holmes. Can't you just watch a marathon of Toddlers and Tiaras? It'd be less painful.''

''Santana.''

''What's up, buttercup?''

''Go away.''

''Sorry, can't do, babycakes. The snow, remember?''

Next thing she knew, her subconscious had worked right before a flying remote hit the wall above her head, producing a loud crack and a fit of laughter from the target. Contrary to Quinn's expectations of Santana shutting up, the girl got no hints out of the remote attack but to move closer, so that she could take the provocations to next level. And that she did. Inching towards her with every passing second Quinn was absorbed into the show and paying no attention to other things, she finally got proximate enough for her to touch the blonde's ear with her lips.

''So I was thinki-''

In lieu of getting to finish the sentence, Santana found herself gasping for air, back firmly against the floor and a disgruntled Quinn on top.

What left her mouth next vaguely resembled a groan of irritation. ''_What_ is wrong with you?''

''Do you want the full list or just the top ten? Well, let's see. First and foremost, I'm stuck in this dollhouse with an apathetic beauty queen who has a horrible taste in TV shows, bored out of my damn mind.''

''Please, like you can't come up with entertainment on your own. You know what I think? I think you crave attention. And why so? Because you really_, really_ want to dish on what happened yesterday and receive empathetic assurations of how it was none of your fault,'' she murmured, instantly going from frustrated to sly.

Silence. Quinn knew she'd hit the nail on the head. All Santana did in response was purse her lips and shift slightly, wanting to get out of the blonde straddling her. Quinn only pinned her arms harder to the floor, thus making it harder to struggle, both eyebrows quirked in interest as to what she was going to hear.

''You're not my therapist,'' the latina croaked dryly, stubbornness setting in.

''Wrong answer.''

''Would you stop living out your closeted lesbian wet dreams and get off me?''

''Not really, no.''

There was no way to get out of the force pushing her towards the ground, so Santana produced the angriest look possible in hopes of preventing the upcoming interrogation. Nonetheless, her acid glare didn't serve it's purpose.

''What do you want me to tell you, Oprah?'' she pressed through her teeth upon noticing the victorious look on Quinn's features.

''What exactly happened last night?''

''I told you, we fought.''

''Why?''

''She asked me if I _liked_ you.''

It was Quinn's turn to be dumbfounded, and Santana could swear she saw a slight rouge surfacing on her cheeks, next turning into a tone equivalent to pale white. Her wavering facial expressions gave off hints about the conflict taking place in her head. The young woman looked like she wanted to delve deeper into the details, but held back for some reason, alternately steering away from the subject as best as she could.

''That's why you got into an argument?''

''Yes and no. I couldn't keep everything in anymore and lashed out on her like a maniac. About having moved on so fast, about Evans, about everything. ''

''Oh.''

The following events could be described as follows: both women rendered silent, Quinn wordlessly got off Santana, tiptoeing towards the door as if she was a prey trying to flee from the beast, or in their case, more confessions. Santana didn't try to barricade her exit.

She turned around prior to leaving the room, hazy woe overlaying her formerly startled expression.

''Santana?''

''Yeah?''

''What was your answer?''

''What do you think?''

And with a slight nod, Santana was left sprawled out on the floor all by herself. When Quinn came to check on her a few hours later, she was already gone, a note being the only evidence of her visit.

She would never have foreseen the impact of something so simple. In a messy handwriting, the scribbles formed two sentences which caused Quinn's heart to jump against her will.

_I know it will keep you up tonight, so I'm going to make your life easier as a thank you for being less irritating than usual. My answer was maybe._

* * *

Her favourite Destiny's Child song coming from the nightstand illustrated an incoming call and drew Santana's attention from a google search, but she remained motionless. The caller grew tired after some time, the rings were then replaced by voicemail beeps. Again, she didn't care. That until the phone compulsorily accepted it, and a voice filled the room.

''San.''

The recipient froze right away.

''Sam taught me how to use this thing, so I wanted to say hi.''

It was greeted with an annoyed eyeroll. Sam this, Sam that. As always. Did Brittany keep mentioning him on purpose or just forgot about the act of subtlety?

''Please don't be mad, because Lord Tubbington misses you and I'm afraid he's going to start stress smoking again.'' A giggle accompanying the muffled ''Sam, stop!'' created a slight gap in the one-sided conversation, but it was quickly filled. ''I have to hang up now in case the phone wants to suck me in. Pleeeease call me?''

Peculiarly, Santana didn't feel as empty as she expected to. She was jealous, though that to a certain extent, different to her previous begrudging rages. Did she use up all of her feelings in the past day? Or was she simply coming to terms with it and letting in other people besides Brittany? Unaware of where her mind was drifting, she ended up recalling her vulnerability around Quinn, a rare occurrence when it came to the latina, and noticeably getting the same in return. Despite the gay jokes, her friend had deliberately ignored them for the first time during their long friendship. Whatever the reason behind their abnormal change in demeanor was, she couldn't put a finger on it. As evident as it had been, Santana was oblivious to the unexpected journey of feelings ahead of them, even though she was more than familiar with the longing looks shared with her best friend. One thing Santana knew, she didn't want to stay hurt forever. As her abuela always stated (albeit referring to the opposite sex rather than girls), moving on was often the best choice. If it was meant to be, life had it's ways to rekindle old romances. Until that, she was certain about trying to move on.

Decisively reverting her eyes back to the laptop screen that shed a ghostly glow on her face in the dark, latina's fingers ran across the keyboard.

_**Performing arts schools in New York.**_


End file.
